


Does It Count as Breaking In If Nothing's Broken?

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [25]
Category: Casino Royale (2006), James Bond (Movies), Quantum of Solace - Fandom, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bond's Breaking and Entering Again, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Humor, Older Woman/Younger Man, Prompt Fic, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond keeps breaking into M's home - despite strict instructions otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Does It Count as Breaking In If Nothing's Broken?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the bondkink comm on LJ. The prompt was _So we saw him breaking into her place for the first time in Casino Royale. And then it keeps on happening, not only when he actually needs to get to her. Sometimes just to bicker, sometimes when she isn't even around, but he always leaves something (a glass, a book, whatever) out of place, so she would know he was there._
> 
>  _It's the world weirdest mating ritual, but somehow it works._  
>  Disclaimer: Oh how I WISH it was mine!  
> Spoilers: Casino Royale, Quantum of Solace, Skyfall

"And Bond – " He paused by the lift doors and looked across at her. "Don't ever break into my house again."

He gave a slight nod. "Ma'am." 

Afterwards, she realised that she ought to have known that that wasn't a promise not to do it again, just an acknowledgement that she'd given him an instruction. Instead, she'd presumed he'd actually do as he was told – a rash assumption, as she was forced to acknowledge a few days later when she returned home to find a large bouquet of flowers arranged elegantly in a couple of vases either side of the fireplace. They weren't from her husband because he was away – and her housekeeper was highly unlikely to be buying her such an expensive flowers. Walking across the room she spotted an equally expensive box of chocolates resting on the coffee table, with a business card on the top. She picked it up and saw two words were inscribed on it: Sorry – James.

She shook her head, wondering what she was going to do with this, her most exasperating agent.

007-007-007

It's been three days since her husband flew to New York on business when M's woken by a slight noise in her bedroom. She flicks on the light to see Bond standing in the doorway, two mugs of tea in his hands, and the stem of a single rose gripped between his teeth.

She stares at him for a long moment, then shakes her head. "Who do you think you are, the Milk Tray Man?" she asks in resignation.

He crosses the room and sets down the mugs on the bedside table, then removes the rose before he speaks. "I'm much better looking," he informs her. He holds out the rose as he perches on the side of the bed.

"What's this? And don't say it's a rose because I'll throw that tea in your lap."

His mouth twitches, and one eyebrow goes up. "It's your birthday," he says. "I brought you presents."

"Bond, it's five o'clock on a Sunday morning – aren't I entitled to a lie-in?"

"Who said anything about getting up?" His blue eyes are sparkling and she feels a surge of desire that surprises her. He leans in and cups her cheek before bestowing a surprisingly chaste kiss on her lips.

M raises an eyebrow. "I'm not made of bone china, you know."

He smirks, then leans in for an altogether hungrier kiss, and she feels a rush of excitement and lust as her nipples tighten and her pussy grows wet. He slips a hand inside the top of her red silk nightdress and cups her breast, thumbing the hard nipple and making her moan into his mouth.

Minutes later they're both naked and he's sliding his gloriously hard cock into her hot, slick pussy. He fucks her deep and hard, driving her to two orgasms before he comes himself with a shout, and afterwards she lies with an arm covering her eyes, feeling embarrassed by how much she'd enjoyed it. He clasps her wrist and pulls her arm away, leaning down for another passionate kiss.

"What's wrong? You're not ashamed of wanting sex at your age, are you?" he asks quietly. "Because I don't think you should be."

"No, not ashamed, but a bit embarrassed that I enjoyed being fucked like that."

He gives her a puzzled look. "M, that was the most vanilla sex ever – what's embarrassing about that?"

She chokes out a laugh. "That wasn't what I meant. I – oh, never mind. You're the wrong age and sex to understand, and I'm not even sure I fully understand."

He smirks. "Then stop thinking," he suggests, and shifts, reminding her that his cock is still buried inside her. She moans softly, feeling yet another surge of lust, and decides that maybe there are one or two advantages to having Bond break into her home.

A few hours later, when they're both spent and sated, she decides that being fucked nearly senseless by a man a good thirty years her junior is a definite advantage to having said man breaking into her house. All the same, she's not going to encourage him to make a habit of it.

007-007-007

M knows Bond's back to his usual self after losing Vesper when she emerges from the bathroom after a long, hot soak one evening and finds an empty coffee mug on the table beside her laptop. She glances at the screen and her eyes widen in shock when she sees there's a 'wallpaper' on the desktop which wasn't there earlier: it shows a naked, very aroused young man tied to a bed, and a whip-wielding older woman standing over him.

"The next time I see you, 007," she mutters crossly, but she can't quite restrain the smirk of amusement as she looks at the picture again. 

007-007-007

M's husband has been dead for three months when her next birthday rolls around, and she neither wants nor expects any fuss from anyone, including her children and their families. Her co-workers don't know it's her birthday, and she's no intention of enlightening them, but she has, temporarily, forgotten that Bond knows – until she gets home and find a bouquet of orchids, a box of expensive chocolates, and a discreetly wrapped package sitting in the middle of the coffee table. There's a note scrawled in Bond's handwriting on top of the package "Happy birthday, M. Sorry I can't be there. Enjoy your presents. Champagne's in the fridge, James".

She looks at the package for several moments before daring to open it. She's not sure what to expect it to contain, but is fairly sure whatever it is will surprise her. When she gets the wrapping paper off, there's a long narrow box inside – with absolutely no markings to give her a clue as to its contents. She lifts the lid slowly and carefully (she wouldn't put it past Bond to give her a Jack-in-the-box), then stares in amazement at the object inside: a ten inch long black vibrator shaped like a very realistic penis.

"Bloody hell, Bond!" she murmurs, then lifts it out of the box to turn it this way and that. It weighs considerably less than she imagined and she decides that she'll have to try it out, just once.

She carries it through to her bedroom, and finds another box on the bed – this one large and flat, which she opens less tentatively. Inside is the most astonishing pale blue confection of satin and lace that she supposes is meant to be a negligee. She finds herself laughing as she wonders if Bond bought it online, or actually went into a shop somewhere in Paris to buy it himself.

"Foolish man," she says softly, but if the foolish man could see her, he'd notice that there's a fond smile on her lips as she begins to undress.

007-007-007

Yet again M's come home to find Bond in her flat, and they spend twenty minutes bickering until she loses patience and tells him to clear off. He looks so little-boy-lost and hurt as he gets to his feet that she feels a pang of guilt.

"What's wrong?" she asks quietly.

"Do you know what today is?" He doesn't look at her as he asks, and she frowns as recites the date, then it clicks – today's the anniversary of his parents' death.

"Oh James," she says remorsefully. She grabs his wrist and pulls him back down to sit beside her again. 

He starts to speak, but begins to sob softly, and she pulls his head towards her chest, cradling him against her and murmuring soothing noises at him.

After he's finished crying he looks so spent and worn out that she sends him to the guest room to sleep; when she checks on him an hour later, he's curled up, fast asleep, in the middle of the bed, and on an impulse, she climbs into bed with him and wraps herself around him before falling asleep.

007-007-007

M's late home from work and desperate for a drink, a shower and some sleep, so she's less than impressed when she opens the kitchen door to put away the groceries she grabbed on the way home, and finds Bond sitting at the table drinking a mug of tea and reading yesterday's newspaper. 

"I'm not even going to ask," she announces, and walks past him to put things away. She ignores him, even though she can feel he's tracking her every move around the room; there's a tingling sensation in the back of her neck, and she feels unaccountably warm as well.

"You look all in," he observes quietly.

"I am," she says shortly, hoping he'll take the hint and go. She's still refusing to look at him, but she hears the scrape of the chairlegs on the floor as he gets to his feet, and holds her breath as she waits for him to leave.

She jumps when his breath tickles the back of her neck and his arms slip around her midriff, cradling her against his solid body.

"James, what are you doing? And don't make any smart-arse quips, because I am not in the mood." She's pleased that her voice comes out steadily because she feels a bit breathless from the way he's holding her – it feels, well, loving, and that's just weird.

"You look like someone in need of a bit of TLC," he observes quietly. "Thought I'd give you some, if you'll let me."

She sighs and allows herself to relax a little. "Very well, but you're not staying the night."

"If you want me to leave, I will," he says. "But let me run you a hot bath first, and make you some supper."

"I was going to have a shower," she tells him, trying to exert some control over the situation.

"A bath will relax you more."

"Oh, very well." 

"Good." 

* * * * * *

Half an hour later she's woken from a doze in the rapidly cooling bath by a brief knock at the door. "What?" she asks.

"Supper's ready when you are," he calls through the door and if she's disappointed that he doesn't try to come in, she's not going to admit it to herself, let alone anyone else.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," she tells him. 

When she enters the kitchen again, he's folding a thick Spanish omelette onto a plate and, improbably, wearing an apron over his suit.

"Maybe I fell into a parallel universe today," she muses as she sits at the place he's laid for her, smelling the onions and potatoes in the omelette with an appreciative sniff.

He chuckles behind her, then sets a plate of thickly sliced bread, well buttered, alongside the plate holding the omelette.

"You'll make someone a very good husband one day," she observes as she picks up her cutlery.

"Is that an offer?" His tone is one of mild enquiry.

"No." She arches an eyebrow at him, and he smiles as he sits beside her with another mug of tea at hand.

"You'd better eat that before it gets cold," he tells her.

She shakes her head, mildly bemused, then begins to eat, biting back a moan of pleasure at how light the omelette is.

After she's finished eating, he clears up, insisting that she go and watch TV for half an hour. She raises an eyebrow. "Yes, Mother." Her tone is sarcastic, but Bond merely smiles at her, so she shakes her head and goes into the sitting room, switching on the television as instructed.

She wakes up half an hour later, to find Bond sitting on the coffee table, watching her intently as he massages her feet.

"Do you remember teaching me how to do this?" he asks quietly as his long fingers work loose the tension in the sole of her left foot.

She is tempted to pull her foot away; in some ways this is far more intimate than taking him into her bed and fucking him. 

"I may have shown you one or two things," she remarks in a distant voice.

Bond snorts. "One or two things," he repeats. "M, you taught me everything about how to give pleasure to a woman."

"Everything?" 

He looks up, his blue eyes very intent. "Everything." He tilts his head to one side as he looks at her, her foot still cradled in his hands. She can see, from the way he's sitting, that he's aroused by what he's doing, or maybe it's the recollection of those long-ago lessons. She recalls that he'd been sixteen, orphaned, and very eager to learn anything she'd wanted to teach him. He'd also been a very quick learner and had mastered the art of seduction as if he'd been born to it. 

She lets him finish massaging her foot in silence, but once he's done, she stretches her toes and caresses his erection through his trousers.

"Oh Christ, M!" 

To her surprise he blushes, although she's not sure whether it's because of her touch, or his reaction to it. She decides it doesn't matter, and she curls her toes over the head of his cock.

He catches hold of her ankle and lifts her foot to his mouth, giving her an instant orgasm as he sucks on her toes through her sheer silk stocking.

"Oh!" She doesn't remember teaching him that particular trick, she thinks hazily as she stares at him. She pulls her foot away, then beckons and he gets to his feet quickly. She thinks that his cock must be aching, it's so hard beneath the slate grey material of his suit trousers, and suddenly she wants him so much that her pussy's throbbing.

When he leans over her, she reaches up and grabs his tie, pulling his head down for a breathless kiss that's hard and hungry.

"Fuck me, James," she whispers against his mouth.

"Gladly," he murmurs back, and then he's shoving her skirt up out of the way before unfastening his trousers and climbing onto her as she sprawls gracelessly on the sofa. She comes as soon as he's inside her, then he begins fucking her, and she is soon gasping and moaning with pleasure. He seems to stave off his own orgasm for a long time, longer than she'd have thought possible, and it's only when she clutches at his arse and orders him to come for her that he finally lets go.

They stay where they are for several minutes, trying to catch their breath and calm their racing hearts before she grabs his chin, which has been resting on her collarbone and lifts his head.

"Stay?"

He smiles, not triumphantly but seeming very pleased. "Gladly," he says.

"Good. Now help me up for god's sake."

He chuckles at that, pushing himself up off her, then helping her to her feet. He switches off the TV, then follows her through to her bedroom, and it's only when she turns around that she realises he's walking around with his trousers unfastened and his prick hanging out. She rolls her eyes, and he smirks, then scoops her up and tosses her onto the bed.

"James!" she protests, but she's laughing as well, and she thinks that maybe she could get used to him breaking in if this is the result. It's the world's weirdest mating ritual, but somehow it works for them.


End file.
